


Pizza

by kijilinn



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Death, Death goes visiting, Death loves pizza, Dina Mia's is really good, Ficlet, Gen, I know way too much about pizza, I'm a walking advertisement, If you're in Wisconsin you need to eat there, NON-GENDERED READER, One-Shot, Pizza, short fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-28
Updated: 2016-05-28
Packaged: 2018-07-10 15:33:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6991366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kijilinn/pseuds/kijilinn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You own a pizza shop and Death comes to visit. Apparently, Dean has recommended your pie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pizza

It's an odd day when Death visits.

You look up from measuring flour and water into a bowl at the sound of movement across the counter from you. There is an elderly, sour-faced man peering back at you, dressed in a mortician's black suit and a tidy tie. "You are Dean Winchester's friend."

You've heard of Death from Dean. The Winchesters wandered through your pizza bakery a few months ago and you hit it off with the older brother pretty quickly. Like back-to-your-place, make-breakfast-in-the-morning quickly. Like here's-my-number, you're-awesome-call-me hitting it off. He'd even told you the truth about the world, which, much to his surprise wasn't a surprise to you. Your father was a hunter and you grew up with the specter of ghosts and demons and monsters under the bed. But the Winchesters' version of reality was out of this world, even for the average hunter.

So when you look into Death's watery, old-man eyes, you smile and nod, "I am. Can I get you a table?"

"That would be nice, thank you. Do you mind closing the restaurant? I prefer to eat alone." Death follows you out of the kitchen and into the larger dining room.

"We're closed right now anyway," you shrug. "Wasn't planning on opening until noon, just getting a head-start on the crusts." You seat him at one of the center tables and snag a glass and a pitcher of ice water from the station. "What can I get you?"

"Mmm." Death lifts the menu and considers it for a few moments while you wait, then nods and looks up, "Two small pizzas. Pan crust, one with Italian sausage and green peppers, the other whatever you consider the house specialty." As you scribble a note on the back of your hand, he adds, "And two beers."

"Two?" you ask, glancing up.

"Or three, if you care to join us." He glances toward the door and lifts his chin to indicate the figure walking up. "Ah, my guest has arrived."

Dean cups his hands around his eyes to peer in through the window above the "closed" sign. When he sees you looking back at him, he gives you a strained, apologetic smile and a little wave. You walk over to let him in and he says quietly, "Sorry I couldn't warn you. He didn't give me much chance to call anyone."

"It's okay," you say with a smile and lock the door after him. "It's not like I had anything else planned for this morning or anything." Dean glances back at you and you grin ironically. "Go talk with Death, baby. I'll make the pie."

You collect the beers--two for them, one for yourself for while you're baking--and return to the table while Dean settles himself across from Death. "Thanks," Dean says as he twists the cap off the bottle. Death looks at his own and raises an eyebrow at Dean without speaking. You have to cover your mouth to keep them from seeing the smile when Dean hands his own open bottle across to the embodiment of exiting this plane of existence, then twists the top off the other bottle and takes a drink.

"I'll be in the kitchen if you need me," you say to Dean and plant a kiss on his cheek before you walk away. You can hear them talking, but only the sounds of their voices as you roll out the pre-proofed dough and begin tucking it into a deep-dish pan. You fire up the oven, spread the sauce, add cheese and toppings and pop the first pizza in to bake while you decide what the make for the second. "House special, huh," you murmur, then decide on the buffalo chicken with blue cheese. When the pizzas are done, you grab the carry clamps and bring them out to set them on the table racks. "There you are, gentlemen. Italian sausage and green peppers, buffalo chicken. Ready for another beer?"

"Please," Dean sighs without taking his eyes off Death.

"Another for me as well, thank you," adds Death with a smile. You leave the pie servers on the table and go back for more beer.

"How are the pizzas?" you ask when you return, sliding into one of the chairs and handing around the beers.

"Awesome, as always," Dean grins at you around a piece of the buffalo chicken pizza. "Is that wing sauce on there?"

You nod and grin as Death also inclines his head toward you, "Quite enjoyable. Different from both Chicago style and New York. Perhaps a flair of California?"

"A little of that," you admit. "I like the chewier crust, personally, but the Chicago-style is more like a casserole than a pizza. I never did get the hang of cracker crusts, though. Those are probably my favorite."

Death raises an eyebrow and leans his head toward you, "Do tell me more, child."

You glance at Dean, wondering if your sitting in like this is interrupting some major discussion between Death and Man. Dean just shrugs and pulls another slice of buffalo chicken towards himself, scattering the top with crushed red pepper flakes. "Well, there's thin crusts, like the New York style stuff, but it's floppy, foldable. I'm not sure where the cracker crusts came from, but I'm most familiar with it from 'family Italian' parlors in the Northwoods, Wisconsin and Michigan. It's crispy and light, more like savory pastry, all flaky. I've read a few recipes and tried it a few times, but mine always comes out gummy."

"Hmm." Death rubs his chin thoughtfully as Dean chews on his crust noisily. "I have not sampled this style. Most of my visits have been the iconic New York or Chicago parlors, the occasional street vendor or gas station, just for variety. How similar are these to the frozen crusts one might purchase at a grocery store?"

You hear a choking sound and glance at Dean, who looks like he swallowed something sideways. He coughs a few times, then sips his beer, his eyes watering. "Inhaled when I should have swallowed," he says without meeting your eyes.

You give him a muffled grin and then turn back to answer Death's question: "They're similar but better. About like the difference between frozen waffles and fresh waffles."

The head Reaper steeples his fingers and nods, looking thoughtful. "Perhaps that shall be my next visit, then. The Northwoods region?"

"Dina Mia's in Florence, Wisconsin is really good," you recommend.

Death nods again, then addresses Dean, "Well, Dean, this has been a pleasure, as always. Can I trust you to get the check?"

"It's on the house," you say quickly.

Death favors you with a thin smile and stands, "Thank you. And thank you also for the tip. I am always searching for the perfect piece." He nods to you both, then vanishes.

"He didn't take his leftovers," you observe and Dean snickers.

**Author's Note:**

> No gender pronouns used for the Reader. You can read this as any gender, any orientation. Even asexual. Going back to your place doesn't have to be sexual and all I said is that breakfast was made the following morning. 
> 
> I didn't plan that. But... I'm really proud it came out that way. Hope you liked it!


End file.
